


A Hand to Hold

by wynnebat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-09
Updated: 2010-09-09
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, all you need is a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hand to Hold

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is so ridiculously old; I first posted it over four years ago on LiveJournal, back when I was first entering fandom. It was a beautiful block of text without an LJ cut, too ;) Oh, past!me. This is the slightly revised version with somewhat less woobie!Draco. (There is a distinct lack of crying in this version, unlike the original one.)
> 
> I still totally adore this thing, just because it was my first real attempt at slash fanfic. Before, I'd only written truly awful Hot Canon Male/OFC fic and some original het&slash. I'm tagging it as gen here tho since honestly it never really got around to the slash. Past!me had an even worse attention span when it comes to writing than present!me (which, uh, isn't saying much since I think present me writes more but finishes less, rly).
> 
> Warning for woobiness.

He would not look, Draco vowed silently. He refused to look. He was an unbendable force of nature that _would not look_.

Okay, he looked. But only a little bit. Just a quick glance.

Potter sat two tables away, grinning and yelling at Seamus Finnegan about the blasted Chudley Cannons. Draco really wanted to glare. Or throw something at the stupid Gryffindors. Or loudly stomp out of the great hall with Crabbe and Goyle at his heels. Or start complaining loudly to his table to get Potter riled up.

It felt unnatural to sit here and fume silently instead of glaring at the Oh So Superior Super Potter. Two years ago, he would have been in the middle of a glaring match with the Gryffindor golden boy. They would have been shouting curses and shooting the first spells that came to mind. Draco would have poisoned Potter's apple juice with farting powder. Something would have been happening. Anything but this tense silence on his end and noisy bickering on Potter's.

It was hard to accept that he and Potter would never again argue noisily and fight stupid duels. Draco had to be on his best behavior from the end of the Battle of Hogwarts to . . . well, forever. The Wizengamot reluctantly waived his house arrest and allowed him to attend his final year at Hogwarts, but only as long as he caused no trouble and never left school grounds. Just one step out of line and he'd fill out the rest of his house arrest in Azkaban.

Being forbidden to leave school grounds, of course, wasn't a problem. He felt no pull to traverse the Forbidden Forest or take a trip to Hogsmeade or run away and live like a druid. It was just too lonely to go somewhere without friends. He was spoiled after six years of Crabbe and Goyle's constant presence. They had been true friends: loyal, strong, brave.

But Crabbe was dead and Goyle probably would stay in St. Mungo's for the rest of his life. Draco was too old to make new friends, and had no opportunity to, either. Parkinson and Zabini were shagging on every solid surface and throwing him the finger on the rare occasion that they noticed him, and he would be damned if he lowered himself to talking to the other Slytherins in his year. As for the other years, the entire Slytherin house ignored him in public and ridiculed him in the dungeons. He was an outcast in his home away from home.

Draco left his half eaten breakfast for the house elves and slinked out of the great hall. His tablemates didn't notice him leave. Why would they? No one associated with a former Death Eater. Even Slytherins needed to keep their somewhat-good names.

Potter didn’t notice him leave either. But who needed Saint Potter's attention anyway? Potter and he didn't give a damn about each other this year. Draco couldn't help allowing his petulant inner child to complain. He was above Potter's attention.

He trudged down the hallway, his hands in the pockets of his robes.

On the bright side, he wasn't in Azkaban. No matter how much the Prophet had complained. No matter how many people barged through the Ministry, screaming that the whole Malfoy family should rot in prison. At the very least.

He entered the dungeons, grabbed his books, and headed towards the potions room. Snape's potions room. No matter how many teachers would teach after Snape, it would always be Snape's room.

Snape, who would never be coming back to teach Potions. Snape, who wouldn't be able to humiliate future generations of students. Snape, who killed Dumbledore when Draco couldn't. Snape, who talked him out of suicide every time Draco was forced to torture and kill. Snape, who was stronger than Lucius. Snape, who died for Dumbledore. Snape, who died without taking Draco as well.

Draco gulped back the rock that had formed in his throat. He wasn't going to cry fifteen minutes before the lesson. He was going to walk in inconspicuously, take a seat in the back corner, and keep his head down. Because that was the only way a former Death Eater was going to survive Hogwarts.

He took his seat, opened his book, and started rereading last night's homework just because he needed something to do. Most people didn't bother him when he looked busy.

He kept reading and rereading each paragraph as people filled in the rest of the tables and conversations lulled around him. No one sat down next to him. That was fine. He was good. Who needed friends anyway?

He didn't have to look up to know when Potter entered the room. School started a month ago, but conversations still stopped when the Savior of the Wizarding World graced a room with his presence, the people too awed at Potter's Super Awesomeness to do anything but gape.

"Hello, Harry m'boy! Sleep well? Good, good!" Slughorn announced, not waiting for Harry's answer but still announcing his favoritism to the rest of the class. "Hmmm . . . Malfoy, put away that reading! I can't have you cheating during today's potion. Your success depends on how well you studied last night!"

His fellow Slytherins glared. The Gryffindors snickered. They probably loved how all the teachers treated him now. Like he wasn't worth the dirt under their shoes.

"Now class, today we will be brewing the Aging Potion! It's not very complicated compared to our later material, but it uses tricky brewing methods that you should've read about. You'll just have to get accustomed to them, since it's NEWT Potions. It's on page 81 of your books. Get to it!" Slughorn looked around the room. "Harry, sit down! You can use my sample ingredients."

Draco maneuvered around the tables and walked to the supply cabinet only after everyone else had finished gathering supplies. He didn't want to be reminded of how people tried not to brush against him by accident. At those times, he almost wanted to announce that the Dark Mark wasn't contagious.

He grabbed everything but the crocodile scales and came back to his desk. Meekly, he raised his hand and waited for Slughorn to deign to speak to him. With Snape, he would have boldly called out that he need the scales and inserted some comment about his great father. The father whose body was slowly rotting away in Azkaban. How low the mighty have fallen.

"Umm, Professor Slughorn? Draco has his hand up," exclaimed a voice. Again, conversation hushed as the Savior spoke.

"Oh, yes. What is it, Malfoy?" Slughorn looked as though he would have been perfectly happy ignoring the Death Eater scum.

"You're out of crocodile scales, sir. I wasn't able to find any in the cupboard," Draco replied.

"Hmmppp," Slughorn said, and glared as though it was Draco's fault that the ingredients depleted. Draco wondered if Slughorn's treatment of him was a way to make up for the pudgy man's inaction during the war, or if he was just showing his true feelings. It hardly mattered either way.

Draco started cutting up the other ingredients before filling his cauldron half-way with water. He lit a fire under it and resumed cutting the roots. Snip, snip, snip. Was he paranoid to wonder about how many people wished for him to accidentally cut his fingers off?

A pile of crocodile scales was dumped unceremoniously onto his table.

"Thank-you, sir," Draco murmured.

"You don't really need to call me sir," and amused voice called out.

Draco gritted his teeth as a body leaned over his cauldron, invading his personal space. "Thank-you, Potter," he muttered with a great deal of patience and a mountain of humiliation. He would be the bigger man this year. Even though Potter had the nerve to grow taller than him during his escapades in the woods last year. Significantly taller.

He resumed stirring the potion and dropped the scales in, all while studiously ignoring Potter, who had apparently decided it would be fun to watch Draco complete the assignment.

"Is there something you need, Potter?" Draco asked after a few minutes, just managing to keep his tone polite. Potter had gone around Draco's desk and sat in the empty chair to Draco's right, stretching his legs on the desk, though far enough from Draco's cauldron that they wouldn't be burned. He was doing no work. Just staring at Draco. It was unnerving.

"Nope."

Draco dropped some violet-colored roots into the solution and stirred until it reached the look and feel of water but the smell of a Acromantula venom. Potter still hadn't left. Was he stuck or something? Draco dared a quick glance in Potter's direction. Nope.

"Malfoy! Are you antagonizing Harry?" Just his luck. Slughorn decided to take his look as a glare.

"No, sir," he growled.

"Of course you aren't. You'll help me clean cauldrons in detention after dinner." He looked awfully pleased that someone would have to do the dirty work for him.

"But sir--" Draco began, but was cut off by Potter.

"Ummm . . . Professor? Draco didn't do anything, I was just watching him to his potion. He's very good."

"Harry, if you feel like you don't understand, you can always come to me for help. I'll be more than happy to show you what to do."

"Thanks Professor, but I think I'll watch Draco a little longer."

Slughorn gave Draco another glare, probably for corrupting Saint Potter.

Another few minutes passed. Potter was still sitting next to him, staring at him. It was getting rather irksome. Maybe Potter just woke up this morning and thought, _Hey, I haven't annoyed Malfoy lately!_

"Time's up," Slughorn's voice boomed. Snape's wouldn't have been as loud, but still more forceful. But truly, Snape and Slughorn could never compare. "Let's see your potions, boys and girls!"

Potter finally moved back to his original spot next to Weasel and whispered something to the ginger, who playfully shoved Harry aside.

"Hmm . . . Passable, atrocious, good, good, great job, no, passable, come in after dinner tomorrow, what is this supposed to be, good," Slughorn commented. He reached Draco. They both knew it was the closest anyone had come to the exact potion. ". . .Passable."

Draco noticed that the only "great job" went to Potter, who at the last second had thrown all his ingredients into the pot. There was no liquid. It was not a potion. It was a jumble of ingredients. Great job indeed.

He could bet his Gringotts account that Potter would finish the year with an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Potions without any effort at all.

"Okay, good work everyone! Read pages 98 through 106 for Thursday. Zabini, I'll see you after dinner when you come to re-brew your potion. Finnegan, I'll see you tomorrow evening," the professor called, rushing out the door. Students shuffled out after him.

Draco slowly put his things away and waited for the herd to move. Less of a chance for him to be tripped this way. Was this how Longbottom had felt before he became the Hero That Killed Nagini?

"Hey, Draco," someone said.

Draco looked up. Not again. "Yes, Potter?" He prided himself on his even, unemotional tone.

Potter kept walking closer. And closer. What in Merlin's name was wrong with the guy? Draco took a step back, grabbed his bag, and headed towards the door.

"Hey, wait!"

He felt a hand grab onto his shoulder and angrily whipped around to push Potter away. Potter didn't cringe under his glare, but he did look less confident than before. Good, even if Potter did look less attractive when nervous, not that Draco regularly noticed Potter's attractiveness.

"What do you want?" Damn, he hadn't meant to snap.

Potter, instead of running to the Ministry of Magic and complaining to his best friend, the Minister, grinned. "I knew you were still the same snarky git. Here." Potter took what looked like a photo album out of his bag and handed it to him. "I know you probably don't want this, but, well, you really should have it. It's not too late for you to connect to them. She'd be happy to get to know you. It's only me and Andromeda now. We could always use the help. If you want, you could come with me on the next Hogsmeade trip. I alerted the Ministry just in case."

Draco gingerly opened the album and tried to say something. Anything. Thank-you, what the hell, I don't want this, is he a werewolf, take it back, he's a cute kid, I'm sorry for my friend almost killing you, I hate that you saved me, he has my eyes. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, this." And suddenly he was pushed against the cold stone wall and felt Harry pushing against him and thought he was going to die and stood still and his eyes widened and he panicked and his thoughts all ran together and Harry only said, "I'm not going to hurt you," as though that was any explanation.

"Get off me!" he yelled, shoving Potter off with one hand, the other still holding the album. Potter always made him lose his temper and do stupid things, but he couldn't mess up this time.

Potter, the arsehole, just grabbed Draco's hand and held it against his chest, his other hand pushing against the wall for balance. He ran a finger down Draco's nose. "You have a nice nose. It's not pointy."

It didn't escape his notice that he now had to look up at Potter to see his eyes. He felt short compared to the taller guy. What did he eat while running from the Dark Lord? Daily growth-enhancing potions? At least Potter wasn't trying to hurt him, right? If he were, he would have done something by now. But he thought this might be worse, being so confused about him.

Draco's mind finally caught up with his thoughts after Harry's strange comment. "Do you have personal space issues, Potter? Actually, forget it: Protengo!" He blasted Potter a good three feet away with the weakly muttered charm. "What the hell were you trying to do, Potter?"

Potter sat up, rubbing his not-delicious-at-all bottom. "It's Harry. Friends call each other by their first names."

Draco gathered his pack and stuffed the album inside. "We're not friends. We're . . ." He paused trying to think of a word for their relationship. They weren't enemies anymore. "We're acquaintances."

"How do we go from being acquaintances to friends, Draco?" By now, Potter had stood up, but still stayed a few feet away. Good.

"Did Voldemort's killing curse kill your remaining brain cells, Potter? We aren't going to become friends."

"No, he only killed some of my inhibitions and the little courage you had."

Draco snorted. "Okay. Since I'm not courageous and you're now an even more reckless Gryffindor, you should quit this charade of becoming friends with me. I don't have time for this." He glared one last time at Potter and headed toward the door.

"Then who will be your friend?"

"You're an idiot, Potter. Slytherins don't need friends."

But from Potter's utterly intent expression, it looked like Draco wasn't going to get a choice in the matter. And maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
